Thanks for Sharing
by AsYouAre
Summary: Two single parents, frantically searching for the perfect for gift, have a chance encounter and discover that they might just have something in common- and it's not just the toy that they're both trying to get for their sons.


_**Author's Note:** So I wrote this little thing for OQ Advent this year, and fully plan on continuing this as a full-length fic. I know I say this a lot, but bear with me  please because I genuinely mean it this time. If you haven't read this, you can either read it here or at onceuponanadvent . com. Either way, you should really check out the advent page! The ladies who have put it together have done a fantastic job. Not to mention, there is so much incredible talent overflowing from that website. Anyway, I hope you (will) enjoy this and are looking forward to the future of this fic as much as I am!_

 _Also, **huge** shout out to my beta, Manuela, who stayed up incredibly late one night to help me finish this! You rock!_

* * *

He likes New York. He didn't at first, after growing up in a small and quiet town just south of London. But New York was his beloved Marian's home, her favorite place to be. She was a Brooklyn girl, "born and raised," she used to say. It had been her home for nearly her entire life until they met. Her mother was Dominican and lived in Washington Heights, while her dad came from Harlem. The two met in Manhattan and moved to Bed-Stuy, where Marian had done most of her growing up. It had been a task getting her to leave that home behind, after they met, but eventually he'd managed to coax her into moving into a small flat in Chelsea.

They met like her parents in Manhattan. He had come to the States with a few of his best mates, looking for a little action with some pretty American girls. New York City appeared to be just the place in the US for that kind of fun, so he, Killian, Liam, and Will boarded the quickest flight they could, and made their way to the Big Apple. Their second night there, they'd decided to go to some swanky bar in lower Manhattan— it was Killian's idea not his— and that was where he met Marian. Robin easily remembers the warm, humid night full of booze and scantily clad women, but mostly he just remembers her. She was perched in the corner with a couple of her friends, dressed in a shimmery and mesmerizing, gold bodycon dress and dark lace up shoes that could have squashed him like a bug.

He had just happened to be leaving the bar top, with a beer in hand when he looked in her direction and caught her eye. She had that dark smolder that bred mystery and enigma, causing him to feel an irresistible pull towards her, which he'd followed willingly, sauntering over to her little niche in the corner.

He'd been meek when he approached her, docile as a kitten. She'd eyed him suspiciously, as he stood there awkwardly awaiting her answer to dance with him. That might've been the moment when he knew Marian was the one. She never played into his bullshit and never gave him the benefit of the doubt just because she could, or had to. It was his favorite part about her because she was always one step ahead of him, always keener, always wiser. She saw right through him and he respected her for it.

It didn't take much for him to realize that he wanted to marry her. And all it took was her to say yes.

They were married within the year. Not much longer after that, followed the birth of their son, who had a thick, black mop of hair, which could only be attributed to Marian's roots. The only thing Robin did claim about the boy were the unmistakable dimples, which were cratered in each cheek. They, alone, had nearly been enough to melt him to the spot the moment he'd seen them, the undeniable claim that Robin had to his son— _his_ _son_. He had never felt so much love consume him before, filling up every empty hole and repairing every battered piece he'd learned to carry in his life. But the moment he looked into that precious, sweet face, Robin was sure he would disintegrate right on spot. Between those heart stopping dimples, wild dark curls, and the big, saucer-like eyes, Robin isn't sure how he didn't result in a pile of ash that instant.

Robin Locksley had never been more in love.

They'd named their son Roland, after Marian's father, and he was everything they could've ever hoped for. Together, they made the happiest little family, and Robin felt like the luckiest son of a bitch alive. Every day promised a new rush of laughter, enjoyment and pure happiness. It was almost euphoric. He nearly couldn't believe that this was his life…

And then he was shown it wasn't meant to be.

It started the day he found her on the sterile, white bath tile, passed out in a pool of her sick, which was colored grimly with a deep red hue that still haunts him. He remembers it so vividly that it can still make him feel that oily sense of dread that slicked up his insides when he found her. It makes him nauseous to the day to think about it, but he can picture every speck of detail, down to his bloodstained hands that he'd curled around her unconscious body and the frigid waiting room he paced impatiently, waiting to hear of his wife's condition.

That night followed with many hospital visits, and not long after, treatment began. It had to be aggressive to even come close to fighting the disease, and it weighed on her. He had to watch in horror as she wasted away under the veil of a terminal illness. Her skin gained this blue-tinted pallor and her lips were always pale, dry and cracked. The skin around her breasts, where the cancer was, turned an angry red color and the pain showed in her features, though she tried to hide it. Her eyes lost the light and laughter they'd once danced with and her hair slowly began to fall out until there was nothing left. Soon, there was nearly no Marian, at all.

She tried to brave through it all with jokes and tension breakers, but as she got sicker, the jokes got weaker until she couldn't make them anymore. The laughter in their home died, then. She had to stop laughing because it began to hurt and it makes him ache wearily now because he can't remember for the life of him what her laugh sounds like. He thinks he might have a recording of it on his iPhone but he can't bring himself to look.

He isn't quite ready to relive the pain of missing her like he has done for the last several months. He'd been in bits watching her essentially die. Every day he had lived in fear that he would wake up and find her dead, and the day he did, his whole world ended. But up until that day, a foolish and naïve part of him had continued hoping. That's the thing with living with a cancer patient. Even when everything is gone to shit and nothing seems to be going right, you still get that small pinch of hope that says that everything will turn out okay and proper in the end. But, it doesn't. It's all still rubbish, and then, you hit rock bottom, and unless you have a lifeline, there's no way to dig yourself out of that fucking rut.

Robin was lucky enough to have Roland. He hasn't the slightest clue who or where he'd be if it wasn't for his boy. Roland has been the only light in the pitch black darkness after Marian passed. He'd alienated his friends. He stopped speaking to people at work. He just became a _thing_ , a mere object that simply existed on the earth, but failed to make any conscious effort to actively participate in life. But Roland, his sweet, happy, baby boy—who's not really a baby anymore—saved him from himself, as well as, from the bleak underfoot of depression and darkness that weighed upon him like a belligerent beast.

Roland with his heartwarming smile and his infectious laughter was enough to pull him out of the darkness. He's grateful to his son, will be for the rest of the days, for reminding him that everyone deserves a second chance at life, and happiness, and love. He's still heartbroken, of course, still gets that awful ache in his chest when something reminds him of Marian (particularly some of Roland's nuances), or some of Roland's milestones, which he wishes she could've been there for, but as the days have gone by, he's gotten better, tuned himself back into the living and found reasons to live again—namely Roland.

That's why he wants Roland to have the best possible Christmas ever because Roland has done so much for him over the past several months, even though he may not realize it. It's been a hard year, and even though Roland has been a happy spot in the darkest days, Robin knows that it's weighed heavily on his son and he feels like a rubbish dad for not doing more for his son. He wishes he could've protected him from all the sorrow that he has felt since his mum died, but there was no real way to shield him from this pain. In the earlier months, Robin would pass by Roland's bedroom at night and hear the soft sound of sniffling, an indicator of a shattered heart making itself known to the world. It hurt Robin worse to know that his son was in pain. He could handle the grief, but a six-year-old shouldn't have to go through that—no six-year-old ever should.

Thankfully though, those sniffles have turned into whispers of prayer in the recent months. It's Roland "praying" to Marian. Robin had once told his son during a fit of anguished crying that his mother was simply in heaven and could see and hear him every day. Robin himself didn't believe it– he's not particularly religious, even though he was brought up in a Catholic home. He has since abandoned his faith, but now, he understands the need for heavens and angels, because the moment he gave Roland the hope that Marian was still out there somewhere, it seemed to soothe his son's pain far better than Robin had ever done before.

One night in particular, he heard Roland tell Marian that he wanted, _really really really_ wanted some Legos for Christmas. It seemed like a simple task when Robin first heard him say it, but then Roland amended his prayer, by saying that he specifically wanted the Fantastic Beasts Legos—or as he put it, the crazy dragon Legos, but Robin knew what he meant. Unfortunately for him, they're currently being peeled off the shelves at an alarming rate. They'd been selling like crazy since their release and now that Christmas Eve has arrived, he fears that that the trend will continue.

There have been queues of people lined up outside of shops all day, waiting to secure their spot of parent of the year by obtaining all the presents their spoiled children could possibly dream of. And as Robin has runs his errands, passing store to store, he's grown more and more anxious.

But The LEGO Store is the last thing on Robin's list. He has had other things to do before getting Roland's last gift. Not to mention, he is shopping for two because he is helping out Belle, who is so graciously watching after his son at this very moment. Belle is his neighbor—has been his neighbor since he and Marian moved in— and she helps look after Roland more than should be considered acceptable, especially once Marian had been diagnosed and after she passed. Belle always insists that it's only paying him back in kind for all the favors he and Marian did for her after Belle's husband left her, but that hasn't stopped Robin from feeling severely indebted to her. She's been a good friend— a really good friend— so the least he could do is spoil her and her son a little for the holidays. Gideon is still a little too young to care, but he knows Belle will appreciate it. He's a weak spot for helping those less fortunate than himself. He figures he may as well do as much good with that feeling as he can.

It's why he's lugging around enough clothes and toys from various places to make Belle go cross-eyed. She'll tell him that he needs to return half of it, to which he'll refuse, but he knows in the end she will be touched.

It's the little things.

Finally, he's nearly reached the end of his shopping venture and only has a few items left on the list. He's found himself in the middle of Times Square, his skin awash with the bright lights he never quite gets used to, with the nippy wind whipping playfully at his face. It's not terribly cold yet, though. They're projecting the temperature to hit another high, perhaps, even surpassing last year's. There's not even snow sticking to the ground. He's sure it'll snow soon and he's looking forward to playing in it with Roland, when it does, but for the time being it's pretty warm for Christmas Eve in the city, even as the shadow of twilight prepares to loom overhead.

It's getting late in the afternoon, he realizes, as he looks down at his watch. It's only 4:00 pm but many things are getting ready to close up for the holiday, including the LEGO store. A heated panic rises from his chest and prickles beneath the surface of his skin. He needs to hurry.

He bolts like a madman down the few blocks it takes to get to Rockefeller Center and almost finds himself at the business end of a speeding taxi when crossing 49th. There's still a pretty lengthy queue outside of the store, when he does make it and it only causes him to fret more. He's probably cocked the whole thing up. There probably aren't any sets remaining of the Fantastic Beasts Legos and he's more than likely ruined Roland's whole Christmas. He tries to tell himself that that's ridiculous, that Roland will be fine without them, but as he joins the queue, he lets his worry fester.

Thankfully, the line moves fairly quickly and he's inside before he knows it. It's warm and loud, with people screaming over one another for gifts and what they want. It practically gives him a headache the second he's in the door. But, he doesn't have time to linger on the crescendoing symphony of frantic parents. Instead, he searches frenetically around the room for the box of Fantastic Beasts Legos.

It takes him a minute or two to calm himself enough to really look for the section where it might be. Once he has, it takes him all but a split second to find it. He's standing not even a quarter of a meter away from the large shelf that's plastered with Fantastic Beasts merchandise and propaganda. But, as his eyes follow downward to the shelf space, he feels the boulder of worry he'd been building plummet to the pit of his stomach.

There's only one box left.

Suddenly, it feels as though everything is going in slow motion as he takes five large paces toward the shelf.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

His hand reaches out equally as slow, as the blood in his ear roars wildly. He's almost there. He's almost claimed his prize. Just. Needs. To. Reach—

Bollocks.

Robin's hand is not the only one that touches down on the box in that instant. Next to his is a smaller, more petite hand. His head snaps upward to greet the owner of the other hand, who's face is unpleasantly twisted into a scowl. But despite her grimace, he can tell she's a rather beautiful woman. Her eyes are a deep brown, that makes him feel warm and gooey on the inside and her hair is a soft, raven-like color that falls just at her shoulders. She's dressed in a suit, probably just got off work. Although, most places aren't open today—one because it's a Saturday and two, of course, because it's Christmas Eve. But whatever it is that she does, it must be fairly important.

Robin finds himself slightly mesmerized by the woman and it makes him feel a bit unnerved. It's been so long that Robin has practically forgotten what it felt like to be attracted to someone. It shouldn't be anything serious but it's the first time he's actually noticed a woman in this way since Marian, and it makes him feel off kilter and suddenly very guilty. But, he shouldn't feel like that at all, because he simply finds the woman attractive. It's not as though that's a bloody crime.

And yet.

"Paws off, thief. I was here first," she finally speaks, or growls rather, tearing him away from his argument with himself.

It takes him a second to muster enough gumption to speak but he manages a dry, "Apologies, m'lady, but I'm afraid I was actually here first."

She scoffs and rolls her eyes at him, which, in turn, causes him to furrow his brow perplexedly at her.

"An accent?" she starts dubiously, "Really? Do you think you can dazzle me with your fake accent and I'll just swoon and yield to your every whim? Nice try," she admonishes him as her eyes surf over him skeptically.

Robin can't help but chuckle at the woman's suspicions. "I'm also afraid the accent is very real. I could ring my mum if you'd like."

The woman doesn't relent, though, instead clutches onto the box harder, her dark violet nails digging into the plastic. He mirrors her by holding on tighter and digging what nails he has into the plastic, as well. She responds by curling her body closer to the box and bringing it nearer to her chest, which brings his hand, that's on that side, just between her breasts. It's a low blow but he just moves in, too, until both their bodies are pressed firmly to the box with no sliver of space remaining.

The woman begins to look increasingly annoyed as he stares her down, daring her to let go. She stamps her foot like a child, once she realizes she isn't getting her way that easily. "Ugh! This is ridiculous!"

Robin feels his fuse get a little shorter. "I'm sorry your majesty," he spits venomously, "I know you're probably used to getting your way but I'm not taking my finger off of this box."

The woman scoffs again, "Oh, is it going to do it now—whomever takes their hand off first will allow the other to have it?"

It's actually not a bad plan, he thinks, so Robin nods. "Yes. Whomever removes their hand first, waives their claim to the box. But," he sticks up a finger, "it must be of their own volition, not because the other forced their hand… literally."

He watches the woman consider his proposal. Her head tips left, and then right, before she straightens and agrees. "Fine," she says petulantly, "you have a deal."

"You wanna sit down," he asks, jerking his head to the right to a ledge that has been cleared of toys.

He can tell the woman doesn't like giving in to other people's whims or wishes. She has to mull over even the idea of taking a seat, simply because he's the one who's offered. Her stubbornness faintly reminds him of Marian, who often deprived Robin of self-satisfaction merely because she could. Strangely, it makes him like the woman even more.

"Whatever," she finally grumbles, looking more surly by the minute.

But he tries to pay her no mind and leads them over to the ledge. He sits down first, taking in that rush that comes with relaxing after a long period of standing or doing any kind of work. She, however, hesitates before reluctantly sitting down beside him.

He waits for her to settle, and just long enough for an awkward silence to start, before he introduces himself. "I'm Robin, by the way," he tells her, while extending his newly freed left hand.

"Good for you," she answers disdainfully, looking at his hand as though it was diseased.

Robin can't help himself. It was a trait that used to get him in trouble with Marian, but he just cannot resist the burning desire to retort, especially because the woman in front of him is being so hostile for no reason. It's not his fault that there's only one toy left and they both happened to be looking for it at the exact same time. If he was in charge of such cosmic powers, things would certainly be different for him.

He tips his head sideways and looks at her with an innocence that could only mean that he is up to something. "What's it like up there?" he asks sweetly, trying his best to sound as genuine as possible.

"What?" the woman snaps, finally looking over at him.

"On your high horse. What's it like up there?" he replies, smiling smugly.

Her shock at his audacity only makes him prouder of himself for that one. He even mentally pats himself on the back for it.

"Excuse me?!" she cries aloud. She's angry now—no she's pissed off, immensely pissed off.

"It was only a question," he says in the most disgustingly sweet tone he can manage. He bats his lashes, too, just to put a cherry on the annoying sundae he's created.

"How about I answer that with a foot up your ass," she sasses. He should really dial it back and stop pressing her so much but for some reason he's getting too much enjoyment out of it.

"M'lady if you wanted to touch my ass, all you need to do is say so."

The woman sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. "Do you enjoy being this unbearable?"

Robin doesn't say anything. He just sits there quietly and smiles to himself. But as the woman looks about the room miserably, he feels a touch of regret. He realizes she looks frazzled, exhausted and maybe even depressed. He knows depression wears many different masks but there's something about her dejected body language and lack of caring that captivates him. Perhaps, because he's been the same for the past several months.

He decides to change the topic altogether. Albeit, she probably just wants him to be quiet, but he can't help himself. "So, who are you shopping for?" he offers as a sort of olive branch.

When the woman looks over at him this time, her features are softer–still distant–but softer. She absentmindedly scratches at the plastic wrapping with her finger. "My son," she says quietly, as she traces the letters on the box.

"Ah," Robin answers, even though he assumed that was the case. "He a big Harry Potter fan?"

His question seems to upset her because her face contorts and she concentrates a little too hard on the finger that's still tracing the box. He watches her visibly swallow and glance around the room again.

"It's all he cares about. Honestly, I feel like it's the only way I can relate to him or get him to hear me." She sniffles slightly and it breaks his heart a little bit. "He kinda dove into all things Harry Potter when… it became just the two of us."

So she's a single parent.

Robin quickly feels a new level of appreciation for the woman because he easily knows the difficulties of raising a child alone—with Roland and from Belle and Gideon.

"The father's out of the picture, yeah?" he asks curiously.

The woman nods and doesn't dare look at him. But he can see the glisten in her eye reflecting from the bright lights of the building. He doesn't really know why he reaches his hand out and places it atop hers, but he does and it feels… right. She extends her pinky and wraps it gently around him, signaling that she accepts and appreciates his gesture.

It's weird and awkward and not something Robin ever thought he'd do, but it's been so long since he had anyone to relate to. Sure, he has Belle, but he's known her for so long and commiserated with her for awhile now that even _he_ wants him to shut up. But this woman is new and fresh and _understands_.

"What happened?" he queries. "If you don't mind me asking."

But the woman shakes her head. "Let's just leave it at 'he's no longer in the picture.'"

"Oh."

"Yeah," she murmurs, as she goes back to picking at the box.

He doesn't wish to pry, but he does sort of wish that he could know what is vexing this woman so. He chooses to forgo the avenue about her husband and returns back to her son. Surely, she doesn't really wish to discuss either but he can't help himself. It's almost like a magnetic pull that he feels. He's out there reaching for someone who knows the ache he feels. And although, it seems like this woman is much like Belle, in that she lost her husband because he left, Robin is still desperate to reach out to her. It's probably a bit morbid, but his whole life is morbid. This couldn't possibly make it worse.

"So, your son hasn't taken it well, I presume?"

The woman shakes her head solemnly and pouts. "Not at all," she exhales tearfully. "He stopped speaking to me and all his friends at school. He's pretty much stopped trying to make friends. And about a year ago, he told me that he wished it was me that was gone, instead. I can't blame him but it kills me knowing there's nothing I can do. He's just angry with the world and he has every right to be, but I wish—God I wish—I could just fix it."

Now, that's something Robin could easily relate to. He'd ostracized himself, too, when Marian died. He can understand the boy's bitter frustration with a world that appears to be out to get him.

"I'm sorry," is what he starts with because that sounds like the most logical thing to say.

She mutters something that sounds like, "Yeah, well, shit happens."

He can't help but chuckle softly and he hopes with everything he has that it's not misplaced. But he quickly recovers to continue the conversation in the case that it's not.

"How old is he?"

"Ten—eleven in a few months."

"Mine's six," he tells her. "So, I'm lucky my son isn't going through that stage quite yet. Doesn't quite understand how to feel that angsty, searing hatred for a world that's done him wrong…"

Her head raises so she can look at him. She looks confused momentarily before asking, "So, his mother isn't around?"

"No, she passed in January. Breast cancer."

It always sounds so surreal every time he says it.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"Yeah, well, shit happens."

It's a gamble because he still isn't sure if she actually said it, but when she laughs aloud, it pays off. She laughs a good bit until it dies down into a snicker. He likes her laugh a lot, he notices. It's infectious, forcing him to smile and laugh softly as she goes. She needed a laugh, he could tell, and he's glad he could be the one to give that to her.

The realization that he really wants this stranger to find happiness washes over him like an ice cold bath. He glances down at the box that their hands are still settled upon and he just gets the notion to simply move his hand. All it would take to make this woman even happier is for him to pick up his hand and let her take the toy home.

But before he can do it, she calls his attention back to her. "So, how is your son?"

Robin thinks about Roland kneeling at his bed and praying every night and how he's doing far better than Robin is still.

Robin smiles lightly to himself, "He's okay. He's doing better than I am. I mean, I'm not really sure if he understands everything quite, yet. I know he understands that she's passed, but I feel like some days he gets it and other days he doesn't."

The woman nods along as he continues, "For the first week or so after she passed, I don't think he really understood that she was really gone. I remember on his first day back to kindergarten, afterwards, I went to pick him up from school, and—mind you—I wasn't usually the one to pick him up. It was almost always my wife. I'd maybe picked him up two or three times the entire time he'd been attending that school. But anyway, I went to fetch him that day and when I got out of my car to meet him at the curb, his little eyebrows got all scrunched up and he had this really big frown on his face. Then it was like a light switch was flipped. The frown of confusion washed away with clarity and then not even a second later, he started wailing right there in front of everyone—"

The woman pouts again. "Poor baby," she whines woefully.

"Yeah, I'd never really known what a broken heart felt like until that moment. I mean, I could physically feel my heart breaking."

Even reliving it gives him the faint ache of his heart shattering into pieces. He'd love to never relive it again.

"I bet," she empathizes. "I'm so sorry."

He waves it away gently with a hand. "It's okay. The point is, there are good days with Roland and bad ones, but we get through it together."

He watches her mouth twist pensively to one side. It's an attempt to prevent herself from crying. He knows she wishes that she could say the same about her son. But they are at odds. Robin couldn't imagine how he'd make it through the day if he and Roland weren't cooperating.

Robin tries to envision Roland holing up in his room, refusing to speak to his father and pressing his luck at school. It's hard because Roland isn't quite at a rebellious stage yet, but Roland doesn't seem like the rebellious type. Then again, that might just be wishful thinking on Robin's part.

Either way, he'd want to be able to reach out to his son in any way possible, which brings his thoughts back to the box where his hand lies. He could help alter this woman's future, hopefully for the better. He has the opportunity at this very moment to give her a second chance, to allow her to reconnect with her son and be happy. It's the very least he could do.

It is Christmas after all.

Just like that, he's decided.

Robin looks over at the woman, then down at the box and resolves himself to move his hand. Slowly but surely, he lifts his hand upwards, but he barely lifts it a centimeter before the woman grabs his hand and slaps it back down. He glances up at her to find her eyes wild and distressed.

"What are you doing?" she croaks, holding his hand firmly onto the box.

Robin just smiles at her patronizingly. "Making a choice," he says simply, "You need this more than I do. Hell, I could get anything in this whole room," he gestures grandly to the space, "and Roland would be the happiest kid on earth. But, your son wants this and you _need_ to give this to him—"

"I don't want your pity," she cuts him off.

But he's quick on her heels, "This isn't out of pity. We all get a second chance. And I'd like to give that to you. Let me do this for you, please."

He watches her consider her options but he doesn't give her long. He wriggles his hand beneath her grip and she releases it ever so slightly. And she continues to do so with each writhe of his hand. Their eyes stay locked on one another's as Robin carefully retracts his hand from the box.

When his hands are free, the woman takes a sharp inhale. "I don't know how to thank you."

He dismisses it carelessly. "There's no need to. Like I said, second chance. Take it and do your best with it. That's all the thanks I need. Now, go pay before I change my mind."

She hesitates, then, worry striking her features that he really will change his mind.

"I'm kidding," he tells her with a laugh. "Go."

She glances over at the counter and even braces a step toward it, but she stops and turns back to him, and then back again to the counter. He believes she's considering a hug or a handshake or some form of gratitude but she's conflicted on showing that level of affection toward him.

But he saves her the trouble and urges her, instead. "Go."

She stalls for a second longer and then follows his instructions, marching over to the counter.

He can't help but watch her as she checks out, even though he should be looking for another set for Roland. He'll probably get him a Harry Potter or Star Wars set. But his eyes linger on the woman, whose name, he realizes, he still doesn't know.

He watches her pay and thank the cashier and then she turns back to him. Christ, he should've looked a little busier, or at least, been a bit modest about watching her, but there's no undoing it now. His face heats up as she smiles at him and he feels wholly embarrassed. She seems unfazed, however, shallowly waving and thanking him with a small nod, which he returns in kind.

Then, she's gone.

He lingers for a moment, watching the spot where the first person he's felt a real connection to since his wife died once stood. Robin mentally kicks himself for not getting her name. But there's not much more he can do.

He returns to his task of finding Roland a new Lego set. The shop is closing in only a few minutes, so he really needs to hop to it. He decides on a different Harry Potter universe set, which will be of no consequence to Roland. Hopefully, anyway.

Robin tucks the box beneath his arm and makes his way back to the counter. Except his trip is thwarted by a body in his way. He yelps and rushes to apologize to the person he's just run into, to find that it's the woman.

"Hi," she says breathlessly, smiling nervously and dancing in her spot.

Robin, on the other hand, is grinning like a stupid idiot. "Hi," he answers happily.

The woman is digging in her pockets then, fishing out something that results in the form of a small, what looks to be, business card. She extends it outward to him, saying, "I wanted you to have this."

Robin carefully takes the card from the woman and reads the name on it. Dr. Archibald Hopper, Ph.D, Grief Counseling.

They are the same after all. She's a widow. He'd spent all this time believing she's meant that her husband had left her, but it turns out she and Robin are one and the same. It shouldn't make him happy because it means that this woman is suffering, too, but it means he really did make a connection to her.

Robin peers up at her in bewilderment, "Y–"

She doesn't let him get in a word edgewise. "You should give him call sometime. He's really great at what he does. And when you've done that, you should come to our 'Grieving Spouses group session,'" she says the name embarrassedly. "We meet twice a month on Wednesdays at 6. I'd... really like to see you there."

Robin just stammers, still somewhat dumbfounded by everything that's happening.

"Everyone gets a second chance, right?" she smirks.

Robin looks down at the card and back up to the woman. He doesn't bother fighting the tears that well in his eyes. He's touched, truly touched. It's the simplest of gestures, but to Robin it will be his favorite Christmas gift of all.

The woman is turning to go, knowing her work here is done. But before she walks away, she looks back and says, "Merry Christmas, Robin."

Robin takes his chance while he has it. "Merry Christmas…"

"Regina," she fills in for him.

Robin smiles genuinely and clutches tightly to the card in his hand. "Merry Christmas, Regina."


End file.
